


Queer Cops Club

by girlyjuice



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Bisexuality, Boys Kissing, Drunk Sex, F/F, F/M, Fingerfucking, Girls Kissing, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3429272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlyjuice/pseuds/girlyjuice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why don’t you start a group?” Amy says, trying to pass the binder to Jake, who wrinkles his nose at it and doesn’t take it from her. “You know, like Captain Holt’s AAGLNYCPA, but specifically for bisexual police? You could call it” – she pauses and then sounds out the acronym carefully – “BIPONY – Bisexual-Identified Police Officers of New York. It even sounds cute! Like a bi pony!”</p>
<p>Rosa snorts. “Why don’t we just call it the Queer Cops Club?”</p>
<p>Jake looks at her and grins. “I like that.”</p>
<p>And that’s how the New York chapter of the Queer Cops Club is formed. President: Det. Jake Peralta (bisexual-identified). Vice president: Det. Rosa Diaz (bisexual-identified). Secretary, treasurer, bulletin editor, and meeting planner: Det. Amy Santiago (straight ally).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invisibility and Action

Jake storms through the precinct turnstile, throws his messenger bag onto the floor by his desk, and collapses into his chair. “Aaaaghhh!” he yells, throwing his hands up in the air like he’s trying to strangle God.

Amy and Boyle exchange glances. “Uh. Everything okay, buddy?” Charles asks.

Jake pushes his hair back and buries his face in his hands for a moment. “I’m just… so… _mad_.”

Amy’s brow is so furrowed, it looks like it might fall off her face. She darts around her desk to kneel next to Jake, putting a hand on his arm tentatively. “What happened? Did those kids egg your car again?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, _Amy_. I don’t even have a car anymore. I sold it, remember? Thanks for reminding me.” She rocks back on her heels, eyes wide, and he sighs. “I’m being a dick. I’m just _pissed_ and I’m taking it out on you. Sorry.”

Rosa, returning from the copy machine, overhears this and stops. “What happened?” she asks, and crosses her arms over her chest like she’s getting ready to pound whoever wronged Jake.

He sighs again and pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “I stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts for my morning coffee and cruller, and Detective Lombardi was there – you know, from the 67th precinct, we met him at that tactical drill in Flatbush last year, cute guy, great hair, shiny shoes – and I’ve been wanting to ask him out for a while, so I asked him if he wanted to go for dinner later this week, and he… He _laughed_ at me and said ‘Is that a joke, straight boy?’ And then he left, and I was so mad that I forgot my coffee and donut.”

There’s a stilted silence while everyone takes in this information.

“It’s okay, Jake, we have coffee here,” Gina finally says.

Amy actually laughs at this. “Wait, _that’s_ what you took from that story? Coffee?”

Gina shrugs. “I already knew that Lombardi is a sassy gay asshole. A sasshole, if you will. So that came as no surprise to me.”

“Yeah, but – but – “ Amy splutters. She wheels around to look at Jake again. “You were going to ask him out? Like, on a date?”

Jake nods. “He seemed nice at the drill. And I thought he was giving me _the look_. But maybe he just hated my outfit or something. He thought I was some tasteless hetero.” He hangs his head. “God, why does everyone always assume I’m straight? Fuck this shit!”

Gina raises a fist in a salute of solidarity. “Amen. Bisexual visibility, brother.”

Amy looks around at the group, searching for even one face that looks as stunned as she feels, but there isn’t one. “Rosa, you knew Jake was – “

Rosa shrugs. “In the academy, we used to compete over who could get asked out by the most guys in the bar after class.” She misinterprets Amy’s look of incredulity and adds, “I won, obviously.”

“Charles?”

“Jake offered to help me prepare for the undercover op I did at that gay club last year,” Charles explains. “He’s been there lots of times. He told me what to wear, what to say, even what drink to order. (I got the strawberry margarita instead, though, because one of the Yelp reviewers said it was their best drink. Sorry, Jake.)”

Amy turns her gaze to Gina, who responds without even being asked: “Of course I knew, Santiago. I’ve known Jake since he was six. Pretty hard to miss the stack of _Playboy_ s and _Playgirl_ s he kept under his bed… and the guys he dated.” She goes back to filing her nails.

Amy shakes her head in disbelief and returns to her seat.

“So _anyway_ , back to _my_ problem,” Jake says loudly. “How do I get people to stop thinking I’m straight? It’s really cramping my style.” He pouts like a five-year-old.

“I hear that,” Rosa says. “We need to meet other bi cops. Get ‘em all together to talk and meet and maybe bone down.”

Amy has had her fill of surprises today and doesn’t even have the energy to be shocked that Rosa, too, is bi. (Truth be told, this isn’t as unexpected as the revelation about Jake.) However, she is Amy Santiago, so she _does_ have the energy to pull out her massive binder on forming police associations.

“Why don’t you start a group?” she says, trying to pass the binder to Jake, who wrinkles his nose at it and doesn’t take it from her. “You know, like Captain Holt’s AAGLNYCPA, but specifically for bisexual police? You could call it” – she pauses and then sounds out the acronym carefully – “BIPONY – Bisexual-Identified Police Officers of New York. It even sounds cute! Like a bi pony!”

Rosa snorts. “Why don’t we just call it the Queer Cops Club?”

Jake looks at her and grins. “I like that.”

And that’s how the New York chapter of the Queer Cops Club is formed. President: Det. Jake Peralta (bisexual-identified). Vice president: Det. Rosa Diaz (bisexual-identified). Secretary, treasurer, bulletin editor, and meeting planner: Det. Amy Santiago (straight ally).

“Where should we hold our first meeting?” Amy asks, pen flying over the page as she fills out the association creation form.


	2. Shaw's Bar

_Meeting 1. Location: Shaw’s Bar. Pros: Availability of alcohol, comfortable social atmosphere, lots of seating. Cons: We can’t all sit together, there are some straight people around, and some people get way too drunk._

 

“Bang bang bang!” Jake shouts, miming a gavel in mid-air. Someone passes him a half-full pint glass of beer and he taps it against the bar, _tap tap tap_ , but his fake gavel sounds were louder and didn’t slosh beer onto him, so he goes back to that. “I said, bang bang bang! Order! Order, I say!” He elbows Amy in the ribs and adds, “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

The crowd shuts up, eventually. Most of them are already one or two drinks into their night; some look like they’d forgotten why they’re here.

They’re here because they saw the Queer Cops Club flier that Amy emailed to all the sergeants in the New York area. Some of the sergeants deleted the email out of bigoted spite (which, sadly, stills runs rampant in the NYPD); some of them have set their email programs to automatically filter all Santiago’s messages into spam, because of that time she tried to start a perky police newsletter a few years back; but evidently some of the sergeants actually read the part of her email that suggested they print out and post the fliers in their precinct, because there are people here. Not a lot, but more than they were expecting.

Initially it was supposed to be Amy who ran the first meeting – she had six pages of typed notes, including bisexuality-themed jokes, thought-provoking discussion starters, and topical news stories affecting bi cops – but Jake gave her a look and she launched into a frantic, apologetic speech about how actually it wasn’t her place to speak over sexual minorities at their own events, and so she let Jake take over as meeting emcee. Which was maybe not the best idea, because he has done literally zero preparation.

“Heeeey,” Jake bellows. “Welcome to our first meeting, folks! Glad to see you’re all enjoying your brewskies.” Several people raise their beer mugs in the air and yell incoherently but joyfully. “We’re gonna keep things casual tonight. Just think of this as a social club to meet other bi cops. And if things get sexy, well, hey, so much the better.” He wiggles his eyebrows and the crowd goes wild.

 

As the evening progresses, Jake drinks more than he usually would or should, and if he’s honest with himself, it’s because there are a _lot_ of hot guys here and he wouldn’t know how to deal with that if he was sober. He’d probably just make a bunch of penis jokes and hope that someone found that devastatingly charming. Which is basically what he’s doing anyway, except that he’s drunk enough not to be embarrassed by it.

“What did the penis say to the vagina?” he slurs to a table full of bi cops whose names he can’t remember, because he’s had four beers and a shot of tequila.

“What?” one of them prompts.

“DON’T MAKE ME COME IN THERE!” This joke barely deserves a chuckle, and he knows it, but the table bursts into laughter so raucous that one guy falls off his chair and a woman drops her mostly-full glass of whiskey so it shatters on the already-sticky bar floor.

And that’s the last straw, apparently. The bartender approaches their group with his hands balled into fists (looking, Jake notices, amazingly handsome and strong, though perhaps that’s the beer goggles talking), and points at the door. “OUT,” he commands.

Muttering what could equally be threats of violence or saucy compliments of the bartender’s shapely ass, the merry band of queer weirdos saunters out of the bar as directed. Jake’s too drunk to even care. Everything just feels like a fun adventure.

Except, whoops, he forgot to do the one thing he actually really wanted to do at this meeting: hit on a guy. Or get hit on by a guy. Or whatever. It’s been too long. He scans the crowd, all standing around under the lamppost outside Shaw’s, but his vision’s too blurry to make out individual faces, so he makes a megaphone with his hands and shouts, “Do any guys want to make out with me? I repeat, any men want to kiss this face?” He points at his own face, and can see Santiago glaring at him disapprovingly out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t particularly care at this moment.

Maybe three seconds elapse before some guy takes his hand and leads him into a nearby alley. Jake’s vaguely aware that it’s Detective Harrison from the 33rd precinct. Leather jacket, tight tank top, sandy blonde hair, a little bit of scruff. Okay. That’ll work.

Harrison pushes him up against the wall, and _whoa_ , usually Jake would have whiskey dick after so much to drink but that’s definitely not a problem right now. Harrison leans in close and smiles. He’s got a cute smile, like really really really cute. Oh. “You still wanna do this?” he says, and his gruff-yet-tender voice makes Jake’s knees knock together. He forgot how goofy he gets around hot guys. It’s nice to remember again.

By way of response, Jake leans forward and traps Harrison’s lower lip between his teeth, nibbling, and then they’re kissing, _hard_ , and oh, that’s not the only thing that’s hard, no _sir_.

Harrison’s mouth is hot and probing, his tongue somehow rough and velvety as it pushes into Jake’s mouth. Yeah, starting a queer cops club was definitely, definitely an excellent idea.

Jake’s arms are still pinned at his sides under Harrison’s strong hands, so he uses the rest of his body instead, slamming his hips forward to make contact with the front of the other man’s jeans. Harrison groans and moves in closer so practically every inch of them is touching, from lips to thighs. The weight of him, his leather-and-vodka scent, and his insistent lips all combine with the booze in Jake’s bloodstream and his head is swimming, in the best possible way.

They make out for what could easily be a few minutes or a few hours. Time estimation is tricky when your cock is hard and you’re drunk and there’s a fucking gorgeous cop pressed against you, Jake discovers. And then Harrison slides away from him, releases his trapped hands, and grins. “Thanks for forming this club,” he says. “Looks like it’s gonna be a lot of fun.” Licking his lips, he strides off into the night.

After taking a few moments to catch his breath and remember where the fuck he _is_ , Jake leaves the alley and sees that the group has dissipated, all except for Santiago, who’s leaning against the lamppost fiddling with her phone.

“Oh,” she says when she sees Jake. “There you are.”

He frowns. “You waited for me?”

“I was worried. Just wanted to make sure you were okay and you get home safe.” She blushes. “I mean, ‘cause you’re the club president. It’d be pretty bad for morale if you went missing.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

Amy hails him a cab and tells the driver his address, to make sure he gets home despite his condition. He watches her wave goodbye to him in the rearview mirror.

The first meeting was pretty successful, all things considered.


	3. 1 Police Plaza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me too hard for the pairing in this chapter. It's an idea that got into my head somehow and would not leave. I still don't really know how I feel about it, but here it is!

_Meeting 2. Location: 1 Police Plaza (NYPD Headquarters). Pros: All police have been there and know where it is. Lends some gravitas to the proceedings. Beautiful lecture hall space. Cons: Not as conducive to socializing. Lots of other cops around who may or may not be part of the club._

 

Rosa’s so bored. _So_ bored. The most bored she’s ever been in her _life_. Somehow, listening to Santiago give a speech about The Obstacles Faced by Today’s Bisexual Police is even more mind-numbingly boring than listening to Santiago’s life story that time they drove to Boston together.

The crowd – which is a bit bigger than the one they had last time at Shaw’s – seems pretty into it, though. There are occasional smatterings of applause when Santiago makes a particularly potent point, and one lady even yells “You said it!” and “Hell yeah!” from time to time, which gives Santiago this look on her face like she’s not sure whether to be grateful for the compliment or mad that her speech is being derailed. But she’s Santiago, so she just continues politely.

Rosa has now scanned the room five times, made a feeble attempt at picturing Santiago naked, and played two begrudging games of Kwazy Cupcakes on her phone, so she has officially exhausted all avenues of entertainment available to her in this room. Just so she won’t fall asleep, she gets up, marches up the aisle of the headquarters’ lecture hall, and makes a beeline for the bathroom.

She’s halfway through washing her hands when she hears a curt voice behind her. “Detective Diaz.”

It’s a dumb idea to sneak up on Rosa; she has uncontrollably catlike reflexes and an uppercut punch that could probably kill a grown man. But, luckily (depending on how you look at it), Deputy Chief Madeline Wuntch also has pretty good reflexes, so she ducks out of the way and Rosa’s punch lands on the concrete wall behind her. Ouch.

“Is that normally how you greet your superiors?” Wuntch comments coolly, as Rosa checks her knuckles. A little blood, but no broken bones. Not like last time.

“What are you doing here, Wuntch?” Rosa grunts.

“I could ask you the same question. Normally a lowly detective wouldn’t have any reason to visit headquarters, especially not after work hours. Unless…” She smiles that cold, soulless smile of hers. “Are you here for the bisexual police association meeting that’s going on in the lecture hall, Detective?”

Rosa squares her jaw. “So what if I am?”

Wuntch shrugs, and starts fussing with her hair in the mirror over the sink. “I’m just surprised I wasn’t invited. When I saw the flier on the lecture hall door, I felt genuinely offended.”

In spite of herself, Rosa feels a twinge of something like guilt or pity. “The club’s open to all bi cops,” she explains. “You don’t need an invite. I mean, if you’re bi.”

The unspoken question hangs in the air. Wuntch is reapplying her lipstick now, and Rosa catches herself staring at the blonde’s lips. Dammit.

Wuntch finishes with her makeup and turns around to face Rosa, smirking up at her, closer than Rosa realized. She blots her lipstick on the handkerchief in her breast pocket with irritating slowness and then says, in a voice dripping with condescension, “Frankly, I’m also surprised you’d be spending time on… _extracurriculars_ … when your task force is doing so poorly. How many Giggle Pig dealers have you arrested? Zero?”

That taunting smirk, mixed with the way Wuntch’s eyes dart down to Rosa’s lips for half a second, is just too much to bear.

“You fucking bitch,” Rosa says, and slams her mouth against Wuntch’s.

She’s got the smaller woman trapped against the porcelain sink, and her hands are running all over the Deputy Chief’s petite body, mussing up her perfectly pressed uniform, and fuck, she had no idea how much she wanted this until now. She’s always known hate and lust are adjacent in her brain – it’s come in handy lots of times before, from hate-fucking bratty ballerinas at dance school to beating up hot guys at police academy – but _Wuntch_? Holt would be furious. Not that Rosa really cares right now.

She’s barely aware of what she’s doing as she pushes Wuntch’s prissy skirt up around her waist and yanks down the woman’s stodgy hose, probably ripping them in the process. Whatever. Good. She presses her fingers inside the high-waisted white briefs – ugh, grandma panties, of _course_ , gross – and finds Wuntch wet under her touch. Uptight and mean in the streets, wet and wanton between the sheets, just like all those ballerinas she’s fucked. (Well, this isn’t so much “between the sheets” as it is “in the NYPD headquarters’ women’s bathroom,” but the point still stands.)

She’s just about to push her fingers into the harpy’s cunt when she hears something behind her, footsteps, chatter, and her lightning-quick cop reflexes come into play once again. She withdraws her hand and mouth from the blonde’s body and pushes the woman’s skirt back down, and Wuntch awkwardly tugs her tights and panties back up just in time, so that when Deputy Commissioner Williams walks in, there’s nothing suspicious about the scene she sees at the sinks. Except maybe that Wuntch is pink in the face and Rosa’s breathing is a little labored.

“Williams,” Wuntch says, nodding curtly.

“Wuntch.”

“Nice talking to you, Diaz. I hope the rest of your meeting is satisfactory.” And with that, Wuntch leaves the bathroom without so much as a backward glance. Her voice was a little shaky, Rosa thinks, maybe, though that might be wishful thinking on her part. She always did like being able to make women come unhinged. Even awful, back-stabbing, conniving women like Wuntch. Okay,  _especially_ women like that.

When Rosa gets back to the lecture hall, Santiago is still talking, but Rosa’s got other things on her mind now, so she doesn’t have to work so hard to stay awake.


	4. LGBT Community Centre

_Meeting 3. Location: The Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Community Center. Pros: Fun, colorful meeting room. Friendly staff. Feels safer to be openly bi here than at a police building. Cons: Some non-police may have stumbled in._

Rosa and Jake are acting out some kind of skit to teach the group what to do if they face discrimination at work, and it’s making Amy crazy because a) they clearly did not rehearse, b) they have omitted key facts about how the NYPD human resources complaints process actually works, c) Rosa is making no effort whatsoever to stay in character, and d) the plot is frustratingly unfocused. Amy’s inner director wants to step in so badly, to offer suggestions for character motivation and story arc, but she’s just a straight ally and thus not even a real member of the club, technically, so she decides to stay quiet.

“But Mrs. Human Resources Person,” Jake is saying to Rosa in an overly broad nice-guy voice, “isn’t it wrong to punch someone you work with?”

Rosa keeps her arms crossed and scoffs. “You said he called you ‘faggot.’ So punch the idiot. He’s got it coming.”

Jake looks at her pleadingly; then, to the audience, “Uh, I think what Detective Diaz is trying to say is that you shouldn’t have to put up with slurs in the workplace. And I’m pretty sure that your actual human resources department will be more helpful than Rosa’s character is being to my character right now.” He glares at her pointedly.

Tired of these drama shenanigans, Amy gets up and goes over to the snack table. It was her major contribution to today’s meeting and she’s heart-swellingly proud of it, even if the group has ravaged it a little. The vibrant fruit salad, symmetrically fanned-out crackers, and neatly sliced cheese wedges calm her down. She doesn’t even need to eat anything. She can just look.

“Yeah, I like to stare at things I’m about to eat, too,” says a smooth voice from beside her, and she jumps.

It’s Gina, dressed in an ankle-length rainbow striped caftan. “Wow, you really took the LGBT theme to heart, huh?” Amy jokes, gesturing at Gina’s ensemble.

Gina just shrugs. “When in Rome...”

When in Rome, indeed. It’s stupid and inexplicable, but Amy looks forward to these meetings so much now. Even though she’s not bi, she still feels somehow that these are her people. Whether she’s discussing local politics with the ladies from the 74th precinct, cracking cop-culture jokes with the nerds from the accounting department, or even just sitting around with Jake and Rosa, she always has so much fun when the club gets together. Which reminds her… “Hey, Gina, is this your first meeting? I don’t remember seeing you at the others.”

Gina yawns, plucks a grape from the fruit salad and pops it into her mouth. “My life is very full,” she says, and so is her mouth as she says this, which makes Amy wince. “I had dance rehearsals and, in one case, a red carpet gala to attend. But tonight I was finally able to grace this association with my presence.”

Amy glances back over her shoulder at Rosa and Jake. They’ve finished their skit and are now telling their coming-out stories. Amy just catches the very end of Jake’s: “...and then she said, ‘But every time we have sex, you always seem so into it! How can you be bi?’ And I was like, ‘You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.’” The crowd erupts in laughter and applause.

“Inigo Montoya impression. Classic Jake,” Gina murmurs. Then, to Amy: “You gonna tell _your_ coming-out story, Santiago?”

Amy laughs nervously and shakes her head. “Don’t have one. I’m straight. Straight as a bone!” Straight as a _bone_? Is that even a thing people say?

“Oh. Really,” Gina says bemusedly, sipping from her glass of wine (wait, where did she get wine? This is a family-friendly, daytime event!) and smoothing her hair. “On a scale from Anne Heche to Ellen DeGeneres, how certain are you of that?”

Amy doesn’t even know what to say. “Uhhh…”

“Wanna make out and find out?”

Amy gasps. “Gina! What the hell! No!”

Laughing, Gina lightly punches Amy’s shoulder and says, “Come on, Santiago. You can’t honestly say you’ve never thought about kissing this magnificent mouth.” She puckers up, and her lips are glossy and sparkly and all up in Amy’s face.

To be totally honest, Amy’s a little curious. She’s chatted with several of the club’s female members at the meetings and they all made it sound like so much fun to kiss a woman: soft and exhilarating and missing all the scary testosterone-fuelled aggression that can sometimes show up in a kiss with a man. It made her wish she was bi, so she could try it out without feeling like a fraud.

Oh, what the hell. It’s only Gina.

She closes her eyes, leans forward, and their lips make contact. Gina’s taste like vanilla sugar and a little like the wine she’s drinking, tart and sweet. Amy feels Gina’s long, manicured nails scratching along her back as the other woman pulls her in closer, purring a little against her mouth. Feeling brave, Amy lets her tongue slide out to trace the outline of Gina’s lower lip, as one hand comes up to tangle in those flawlessly coiffed waves.

“AHAAA, look, we pulled Santiago to the dark side,” Jake announces from what seems like very far away, and Amy’s eyes snap open. The entire group is looking at her and Gina, and then they start clapping. Gina curtseys theatrically and blows kisses at the club members, while Amy just stands there blushing.

“Um, I’m still straight, just so you know,” she mumbles.

“Straight girls don’t kiss like that,” Gina sing-songs, and winks.


	5. Film Forum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is DIRTY! You've been warned!

_Meeting 4. Location: Film Forum. Pros: Excellent entertainment. Dark. Cons: Popcorn is too expensive. Some people didn’t like the movie._

 

“You are too much for me, Ennis, you son-of-a-whore son-bitch! I wish I knew how to quit you.”

You know you’re with good people when they can not only quote _Brokeback Mountain_ verbatim but are actually willing to yell the quotes at the screen of the movie theatre while the film is playing. That’s what Rosa reflects on as she nibbles on her popcorn and watches Jack Twist lose his shit on the riverbank.

It was her turn to choose the meeting location this time, and Jake and Amy had sighed with relief when Rosa said Film Forum. They probably expected her to insist on a dark alley or an illegal underground fight club or something. Who the hell _knows_ what they think of her? Her carefully crafted reputation as a mysterious badass serves her well in that everyone does what she says, no one bothers her, and when she makes a suggestion like “Let’s go see a queer movie at Film Forum,” everyone is just delighted she didn’t choose something way, way worse.

On screen now, Jack and Ennis are fighting, fiercely. There’s blood and grunting and rolling around in the grass and now Rosa remembers why she loves this movie so much. It’s got everything she likes in a film: gay sex, an awesome soundtrack, gratuitous violence…

She’s definitely getting turned on – it’s the bloody-nosed queer boys on the screen; she can’t help it – and because it’s dark and because danger is another one of her biggest aphrodisiacs, she sets her bag of popcorn on the ground and slips her other hand down the front of her tight black jeans and into her black lacy briefs.

She’s probably safe. On her left is Officer Bell, an older butch lady who’s currently weeping and mumbling under her breath, “No, Jack, no.” And on Rosa’s right is Detective Myers, a scruffy flannel-clad nice-Jewish-boy type who’s having an animated whisper-chat with the guy on his other side about Ang Lee’s cinematography choices. Which, yes, are excellent and which Rosa would love to discuss with him someday, but right now she’s a little busy.

Her fingers split her pussy lips and whoa, yeah, she’s even wetter than she expected. Baby-faced Jake Gyllenhaal getting roughly fucked in a tent will do that to a person (or, will do that to Rosa, anyway). She starts circling her fingers around her clit, the pressure and speed just how she likes it. On screen, there’s an emotional scene going on now – no one’s getting fucked, that’s for sure – but Rosa’s focus is elsewhere. She’s in her own world – population: hot gay boys in suede jackets and cowboy hats (and little else).

It only takes a couple minutes for Rosa to get herself so close to coming that she’s having trouble controlling her breathing, and that’s what gets her into trouble. She lets out a fast exhale, too hard, maybe a decibel too loud, and it could potentially have blended into the sounds of theatregoers crying all around her, if not for the fact that everyone knows Rosa Diaz doesn’t cry.

In her peripheral, she sees Myers turn sharply toward her. Fuck. She freezes. But he doesn’t say anything, so maybe he didn’t notice what she's up to.

Except, yeah, he definitely _did_ notice because now he’s leaning in toward her, full pink lips brushing her ear, and he whispers, the slightest chuckle in his voice, “You want some help with that, Diaz?”

It’s the cheesiest, dumbest line. If he’d asked her out of the blue, at work or even on a date, she would’ve punched him in the face – especially if he’d been grinning like an idiot the way he is now.

But Rosa is very, very turned on, and there’s something in Myers’ face that reminds her of Gyllenhaal’s Jack Twist – all masculine cheekbones, pale eyes and gruff stubble – and she’s not repulsed; she’s _tempted_.

After briefly checking on Bell to her left (still sobbing and apparently oblivious to the off-screen world), Rosa makes a decision. She withdraws her own hand from her jeans, grabs Myers’ big, rough hand, and puts it where her own had been. And without missing a beat – that horny fucker – he starts rubbing her, hard, fast, like he can tell how close she is. Not that it would be difficult to tell. She’s practically soaked through her jeans onto the velvet theatre seat at this point.

And, damn, his ragged breathing in her ear and his calloused fingers whirlwinding against her clit are just too much for her to take, and she comes in maybe ten seconds, fifteen, tops, slamming her hand down over his to make sure he stays put while she comes against his fingers, hips bucking, her other hand clapped over her own mouth to keep herself quiet.

When she finally opens her eyes and returns to her senses, Ennis Del Mar is crying on the screen, and so is Officer Bell, who hasn’t noticed a damn thing. Rosa tugs on the sleeve of Myers’ shirt and he dutifully pulls his hand away from her. She doesn’t even want to look at him – her face is burning hot with that weird shame that sometimes sets in post-orgasm – but when she does, he’s just smiling at her, those big lips tugged up at the corners, some crinkles around his eyes that are actually kind of cute.

He shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth and goes back to watching the movie, and they don’t exchange another word. Just how Rosa likes it.

 


	6. Jake's Apartment

_Meeting 5. Location: Jake’s apartment. Pros: Lots of Taylor Swift CDs. Decent food. Several massage chairs. Cons: Messy. Loud. Jake has to play host._

Jake announces, “Dogs are done!” and tries to pick up the metal tray of straight-off-the-grill hot dogs with his bare hands. “Ow, ow, ow,” he squawks, followed by a string of profanities under his breath, for which Amy glares at him while she picks up the tray using floral oven mitts (did she bring those from home? God, what a dork) and carries them into the living room.

There’s bi cops everywhere you look, overflowing from the couch and massage chairs onto the floor, gathered into chatty groups. They’ve got red plastic cups filled with beer, which Jake bought for the high school nostalgia factor, despite Amy’s protestations that adults should drink out of glasses. The party guests don’t seem to have a problem with the cups; there’s beer in them, after all.

Jake stands back and proudly watches some of the cops serve themselves the hot dogs he grilled for them. And then his smile falters a little, because he notices something really weird.

In the corner, Amy’s absorbed in what looks like a somewhat distressing conversation with – _what the hell?_ – Detective Lombardi. That sasshole from the donut shop who kickstarted Jake’s whole recent preoccupation with nixing his bi invisibility. Lombardi’s talking a mile a minute, and Amy’s brows are furrowed like she doesn’t quite understand whatever he’s telling her. And both of them keep glancing over at Jake.

Eventually enough is enough, and Jake has to find out what’s going on. Lombardi could be harassing Amy about any number of things – her incongruously hetero presence at this queer event, her conservative high heels, the dumb flowery oven mitts she’s still wearing – and he’s not going to let that jerk talk that way to Amy.

But when he gets to them, something quite different is going on.

“Jake!” Amy chirps. She takes a long pull from her beer cup – her third or fourth drink, Jake deduces from the amount of lipstick on the rim and the way her gaze is softer than usual – and declares, beer-blurry: “Look, Lombardi’s here! And he has a proposition for you.”

Jake’s eyes slide over to the other cop. “Yeah, I know he’s here, Ames,” he tells her, and steadies her as she sways slightly. “What’s this proposition, Detective?”

The taller man sticks out his hand and says, “Call me Matt.” When Jake just stares at him without shaking his hand, he clears his throat awkwardly and continues. “Um, I was just telling Detective Santiago here that I heard you were pretty upset about the comments I made when we ran into each other a few months ago, and I wanted to apologize.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause, and Jake prompts, “So apologize.”

Matt bites his lip. “Oh. Right. Uh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed you were straight; that was stupid. But also…” He looks at Amy, then back at Jake, and leans in closer; Jake can see his dark stubble and the cleft in his chin, and fuck, he’s still really cute even if he’s kind of a dick. “I wanted to apologize to you in another way.” His gaze is locked on Jake, who stares back blankly. “You know… Since you like guys, I thought you might like…”

Another tense moment passes, and then Amy hiccups and barks, “He wants to blow you, Jake!” Some of the other cops in the room look up at her then, so she buries her blushing face in her beer cup, which makes her next words come out soft and muffled: “And he wants me to watch.”

Jake arranges his features into an angry expression, because it seems like the best way to hide how turned on he suddenly is.

“You think that’ll just fix everything?” he snarls at Matt. “You make me feel like shit by calling me straight, and then you think you can solve it by sucking me off while a lady watches? Like some kind of… ultimate bisexual fantasy?” He thinks about it for a few more seconds, and then shrugs and says, “Okay, cool. Are we doing this _now_ , or what?”

Lombardi blinks at him for a beat and then his disgustingly cute face breaks into a grin. “Sure. I mean, if you’re done with your hosting duties for the moment.”

Jake glances around at the party guests chatting and laughing over their beers and footlongs. They won’t notice if their host goes missing for a bit.

 

 

The three of them go into Jake’s bedroom and shut the door. It’s a bit awkward; Jake and Matt just kind of look at each other and giggle nervously. Amy’s giggling too, but mostly because she’s drunk. That’s why it comes as such a surprise to both men when the petite brunette commands, “Lombardi, take off Peralta’s pants and start kissing his dick through his briefs.”

Jake is simultaneously stunned to hear Amy say a dirty word, turned on at the thought of what’s to come, and impressed that she knows he wears briefs. That’s good detective-ing.

Jake lies down on the bed. While Lombardi kneels on the floor and does as he’s been told, Amy totters over to Jake’s dresser, on top of which is perched the pilot’s hat he stole from his dad. She puts it on and says in a deep, imperious voice, “I’m the captain of this blowjob now. You boys will do what I say. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Jake and Matt say in unison, without thinking, and they both look at each other and then at Amy and there is a moment of agreement. _Okay. Yes. We’re doing this._ Lombardi lowers his head again and nuzzles his nose against Jake’s cotton-clad cock, and _oh fuck yeah_ , this is gonna be good, Jake knows.

That goes on for a while, to the point where Jake is wondering why Lombardi doesn’t get on with it, and then he realizes: their captain hasn’t given the order. Matt’s just being a good little subordinate. Wanting to move along the proceedings, though, Jake looks at Amy and asks experimentally: “What next, captain?”

Amy’d been staring at Lombardi’s ministrations as though hypnotized, but now she snaps out of it and takes another sip of beer. “Take his briefs off and lick his balls,” she rasps low in her throat.

“Yes, sir,” Lombardi says again, and hooks his fingers over the edges of Jake’s Calvins. He pulls them down Jake’s legs slowly until they’re all the way off, and Jake tries to ignore the way his breath hitches and his heart thuds, because not only is he about to get a blowjob, but he’s also half-naked in front of Amy Santiago.

But then Matt’s warm tongue nestles up against the smooth, sensitive skin of his balls, and all other thoughts fly out of his head. “ _Fuck_ , you’re good at that,” he breathes as that wicked tongue flicks against him. His eyes flutter closed and he lets himself relax into the firm support of the bed.

“Take him in your mouth,” Amy’s voice says from Jake’s periphery.

Lombardi doesn’t need to be asked twice. He slips the head of Jake’s dick past his lips and along the warm wetness of his tongue, and Jake moans and softly tells him, “Yeah.”

“Deeper,” Amy instructs. Matt swallows Jake’s whole cock, which is no small challenge, without even gagging. Fuck, he’s good. Jake reaches out and strokes the handsome detective’s hair in appreciation as Lombardi begins to move up and down, setting a sweet rhythm.

Jake loses his sense of time for a while; all his attention is focused on the aching loveliness of Lombardi’s tongue and lips and throat around him, gliding up and down, gripping and rubbing and sliding. But then he hears the softest, kitteny moan from somewhere beside him, and he opens his eyes.

Amy’s got her skirt hitched up, and one hand is down her panties while the other still holds her cup of beer. He can see the outline of her hand working quickly through the cotton, and when she catches him looking, she blushes but doesn’t stop.

“Amy,” Jake says tenderly, and then, remembering, “Captain.” He extends a hand in her direction and tells her, “Come here.” Lombardi has slowed his strokes, which is good because Jake was getting pretty close, and he doesn’t want this to be over yet.

Amy sets down her beer on the carpet and moves tentatively toward the pair on the bed. When she gets close enough to him, Jake slides a finger under the waistband of her sensible white panties and says, “Take these off. Please.” Her eyes are a cloudy swirl of nerves and arousal as she does what he’s asked, dropping the damp briefs on his floor.

“Come here,” he says again, and pats his chest where he wants her to sit. “Let me taste you.” Then he clears his throat and adds, “I mean, you’re the blowjob captain. I’m supposed to serve under you. So let me.”

It’s a cheesy line, but apparently it works, because she climbs onto the bed, positions one knee on either side of his head and one hand on his headboard, and lowers herself down onto his face. And if Jake was joking earlier about this being the ultimate bisexual fantasy, he isn’t joking now. This is easily the hottest situation he’s ever found himself in, and that includes the time he made out with the Bruce Willis lookalike dressed as John McClane for Halloween.

Amy’s already soaking wet, and he wants to taunt her about how he’d never have expected Amy Santiago to have a thing for boys fucking, but his mouth is full and it’s rude to talk in that situation. He slides his tongue up between her labia until he finds her clit, and then locks his lips around it and sucks gently. It’s swollen and hot in his mouth and he loves that he can turn her on this much – that she’s actually such a dirty girl under all those conservative pantsuits.

Just then, Lombardi’s tongue flicks over Jake’s frenulum as if to say, _Hey, remember me? I’m still here; pay attention_ , and Jake does. With the hand that’s not roaming all over Amy’s smooth hips and belly and thighs, he reaches down and knots his fingers in Lombardi’s hair, gently tugging him up and down at the perfect pace, and he groans against Amy’s skin as the other man gets the rhythm just right.

He isn’t going to last much longer, so he redoubles his efforts on Amy so maybe he can time it just right. He sucks harder on her clit while rapping on it with his tongue, and then he walks his hand down around her thigh to push two thick fingers into her. She cries out and presses down harder against his face, almost cutting off his air and soaking his lips and nose in her juices, but he loves it. He presses clumsily against her G-spot and sucks just a little harder and then suddenly she comes against him, her clit throbbing in his mouth, her muscles hugging his fingers in rhythmic waves.

And that’s all it takes. The sound and feel of Amy Santiago coming in his mouth push him over the edge and he grunts savagely as he shoots down Lombardi’s throat. The other man is clearly experienced in this area; he swallows it all without complaint, and gently licks and sucks at Jake’s sensitive, spent cock as it starts to soften.

Amy climbs off of Jake and cuddles up beside him, still wearing the pilot hat. She beckons to Lombardi, who crawls up the bed to lie on the other side of Jake. The three of them spend a few minutes just catching their breath and snuggling tenderly against one another.

“Do you accept my apology?” Matt finally says, and Jake laughs low and dark.

“Yep. Your name’s been cleared in my books, pal.”

Lombardi gets up and makes toward the door. “I guess I better get back to the party now,” he says.

Jake pulls Amy closer to him, and notices she’s fallen asleep. He smiles and drops a kiss on her shoulder. “I think I’m gonna stay here a bit longer,” he tells Lombardi, who nods and heads back into the living room.


End file.
